


Q: Quiet

by brokxnharry



Series: Teen Wolf A-Z Challenge (with songs) [17]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Almost everyone is mentioned, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Cora Hale & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Grieving Derek, M/M, Mentioned Kate Argent, Post Hale Fire, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Spoilers, Stiles is there for him, derek deserves the world, derek shifts, emotional derek, mentions of Peter Hale - Freeform, mentions of ghost riders, mentions of mama stilinski, sheriff stilinski is the best parent in the world, sterek fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 05:37:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11891133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokxnharry/pseuds/brokxnharry
Summary: It's the anniversary of the Hale Fire, and Stiles doesn't want Derek to go through it alone, again.





	Q: Quiet

**Author's Note:**

> Song: Quiet Times - Dido

It was mostly quiet. There were no owls, calling into the night, no rabbits running through bushes, trying to make them into a home, no wind rustling between the trees, trying to take some of the leaves away, take something along with it. It was only the sound of his breathing, rough and uncertain, like every time the air came in, it didn't want to go back out. It didn't really want to stay in him either. Was kind of stuck in between. His sweat fell onto the cold, unkind, floors, and his heartbeat, sometimes, sounded like several hearts, rushing through their pulses, falling around the rhythms they were always meant to beat in, were always meant to sound like.

There was this taste in his mouth, that was coming around his teeth, brushing against his tongue, with a bitter sense of familiarity, leaving something sour, something rotten and overwhelming in its wake. And he couldn't spit it out, because it was dissolving into his flush. He couldn't swallow past it either, because it was everywhere. It was in the saliva and the blood that came out when he bit down on his lips and the bile he was choking on, trying to keep it from lumping in his throat, and just, staying there.

His eyes fell shut, burning –or no, not burning, fuck, he hated that word- with the lack of sleep, and the salty sweat that was almost blinding, blurring his vision around the corners, as he willed the tremble in his limbs away, every time he went down with a push up, and almost thought he wouldn't come back up, wouldn't be able to carry all that was weighing him down, that rested somewhere between his shoulders and his heart, and sometimes, felt like it was everywhere, like it was just, everything.

His arms gave out, letting his chest fall onto the ground, and it sounded like something collapsing, the way his old house had, burying his family under, after it'd burned, along with them. It was left in blackened, blocks of wood, that were withering away, carved out around the outlines of the ghosts hiding in all their holes. They were left in ashes and remains and bodies that didn't look like anything, like anyone. And he was just left with all that.

 He groaned, hitting his fisted palms against the floors, that weren't wooden anymore, because wood burned so easily, so willingly. And it made that sound, every time someone stepped on it, that little creak, and he didn't know how he was supposed to hear it, and not run out of his room, seeking out his mother, or one of his younger siblings, awake, when they weren't meant to be. So, he built the floors of things with no gaps between them, that made no sounds, echoed with things other than laughter and roars and things he could still hear, in the quiet.

He walked down the stairs, needing some water, to calm the itchiness in his throat, like he needed to cough something out, to let his vocal cords hit against one another, and call out someone else's name, that wasn't his sister's, or his uncle's, or whatever the hell Kate was now. There was something crawling up his throat, and he needed to wash it away. Wash it all away.

" Stiles," He didn't know if it was awe in his voice, or utter bewilderment, as he took in Stiles, standing in his kitchen, like he'd always been there, putting things away in his shelves, trying to fill all the emptiness around, pour something of warmth, of belonging, into a place that felt nothing like that to Derek.

" I got you some orange juice, and some of that green stuff I see you drinking sometimes. Which one?" Stiles put his hands in the air, weighing Derek's options, whose eyebrows fell into a frown, his arms aching so much, he had to fold them against his chest, to keep them from latching on.

" Green shit it is then." Stiles threw the juice bottle, and Derek caught it, his fingers losing their grip for a while, before they found a way to hold onto it, keep it from falling.

" There are some breakfast ingredients here, that will come in handy in a few hours, since it's like 3am now. You barely had any snacks around, so I got some of my favorites, and-"

" What are you doing here?" Words tumbled out of Derek's mouth, because Stiles was threading through the walls around them, softening them around the edges, coloring them in shades that Derek hadn't seen in years, and Derek couldn't find comfort in him making his own house, feel more like a home than anywhere he'd ever been.

" I figured I should keep your company, you know, make sure you're eating and sleeping and, functioning, really."

" But, why?" Derek blinked, his eyes craving the reassurance, through the split seconds of devouring darkness.

" Because, I know how you get, when- when it's around this time of the year."

" What time of the year? What are you talking about?" Derek's heart gave a threatening thud, warning him away from where the conversation was headed, from the steps he was taking towards Stiles, and the grip he had on the bottle, almost piercing through it, instead of tearing through Stiles and all the bags he had in hand and those openly trusting eyes of his, that always looked at Derek, instead of looking around him, or through him, or just, past him.

" Okay, I guess we're doing this, then." Stiles sighed, put what he had in hand back into one of the bags, resting his open palms against the cold surface of the counter, that was made out of marble. Another thing that didn't catch fire. Never made a sound.

" I have a time of the year. Start of March. Things just, aren't pretty for me. You know. Things feel familiar, but they don't feel right, and. Just. The memories and dreams, or more like, nightmares. Just isn't great. You have that time too. September for you. So I'm here. Whatever you need. We don't have to talk, or, or anything. I'll just, stay here. 24 hours, then, I can go. Or not. Your call." Stiles took one of the juice bottles, disregarding the rest of the groceries, before he walked out of the kitchen, falling into the couch. Derek looked down onto his chest and wondered if he was as cracked open as he felt, if there was a gaping hole in his chest, that was bleeding out memories of his family, and the fire, and the house, and if his blood, was the exact shade of red enveloping the window that his mother was looking through, right at him, with something in her eyes that Derek still couldn't shake. Couldn't understand.

" I don't," Derek stopped, trying to breathe in Stiles' scent, and let it strangle everything that was hitting against his chest, demanding his attention, his destruction at its fury, its viciousness. " I've never had someone here before, for, for whatever happens next. And I, don't really know if I want to be around anyone. If I want you, to see it. See me, like that."

Stiles looked up, eyes widening, the brown in them turning into something else, every time the moon reflected around the whites of his eyes. The juice bottle stopped on his lips, his arms startled into a halt, before he put the juice down, wiped against his mouth, and let his eyes follow all the pieces of Derek that seemed to be coming undone.

" A higher dosage of broodiness won't kill me, Derek. I can handle it. I've done this before, remember? I'm kind of still doing it." Stiles shrugged, taking off his shoes, putting his bare feet on the couch, knowing that it'd drive Derek right out of his mind, because legs were never meant to be on surfaces that he sat on and slept on and **_felt_** , especially when they smelled like Stiles'. Derek rolled his eyes, taking his own bottle of juice, and dropping somewhere next to Stiles, trying not to stare at the grin forming on his lips, and how his eyes sparkled, like the moon molded into the whites now, throwing around a few stars, lighting everything that had once dimmed.

" How do you cope with it? Like, what do you do?"  Derek drank some of his juice, trying to move it around his mouth, and not swallow immediately, so that he wouldn't have to speak, wouldn't have to deal with the aftertaste, that always morphed into something burning, or something that had already been burned.

" Oh, you know, panic attacks, nightmares, sleepwalking. I think I tried weed for a while, but being high isn't for someone as, restless as I am, and it just made me worse. Plus, dad being the sheriff and all, he could smell it on me, and he gave Scott a really tough time for it, so yeah, I gave that up. Then, there is my personal favorite; being so mentally and emotionally frail, that an ancient fox that fed on chaos and pain, thought they hit jackpot, and decided to take over. So, you know, not the healthiest coping mechanisms I have here." Stiles tried to curve his lips into something like a smile, but the muscles in his face felt heavy, like they didn't really want to move, couldn't widen or stretch or bear the weight of the façade happiness, he felt like he had to convey. Derek breathed out, and it was the most broken apart sound Stiles had ever heard.

" At first, like, when it first happened, I didn't really want to be touched? Like, everything felt like it was tearing at my skin, like it was burning through me. Laura's claws looked so much like mum's, but when it was just her fingers, they felt like Kate's, and I- I wouldn't let her get close, wouldn't let her come anywhere near me, until she just.. left. And when she came back, she was," Derek was choking, feeling the claws he'd put through his uncle's neck, somewhere around his, strangling life and love and **_family_** , right out of him.

" She was dead before I could ever feel her again, could ever tell her that- that it wasn't her fault, that I- I loved her, and I never wanted her to go. God. I needed her to stay and just not, not smell like she did that night, not feel like everything I couldn't take. Even with Cora. The last I'd seen of her, was her, in the basement, pulling at the floor, like she wanted to dig her way out of there. And I- I didn't know, how to not see that, not hear her heartbeat as it stopped, right after mum's, and. When she told me she wanted to leave for school, for a fresh start, I knew it was because she felt like there was nothing for her, here, and I just- I let her go. How fucked up is that?" Derek looked at Stiles, expecting to see judgment or disgust or some shade of panic, but his eyes were still so kind, so understanding, and Derek never wanted Stiles to understand this, to familiarize with it, or have anything to do with it. With him.

" I think, this whole thing, everything that's happened, that's what's fucked up, Derek. Don't give yourself shit over how you deal with it."

" It feels like I don't, though. This happened to Cora and Peter too, and I'm just, making everything so much worse for them. And it’s killing me, because I want to be there for them. I want to feel like myself, like a person, and not just, a hollowed out, decaying version of that. And I don't know how to feel like someone I'm not anymore. Or how to get back to that, without getting **_them_** back. And it's just. It's a mess, it doesn't make sense, Stiles, and. I don't know." Derek shrugged, despite all that was gravitating his shoulders towards their collapse.

" Peter is a dick, Derek. You don't owe him anything. I think we should go for a walk." Stiles patted Derek's leg, standing, before Derek could keep his hand there, keep him close.

" Stiles, no, I,"

" You won't be able to stay still for long, trust me. Better get this out, without wearing yourself thin. So, come on, grab your juice, and start moving." Derek sighed, rising to his feet, taking his leather jacket, and half empty juice bottle, before following Stiles out of the loft.

Derek realized that the world hadn't stopped. It wasn't as quiet as it'd seemed in his head. There were occasional police cars passing by, doing their hourly rounds probably. There were night animals, being almost cautious, with the sounds they released, like they knew they'd fall onto Derek's ears, and stir the loudness ringing in his head. There were a few TVs left on static, a few radios, playing music that he didn't really care for. But there was also Stiles' puffed out breaths, and how his heart sometimes jumped, every time his shadow widened or narrowed or deformed into something that didn't look like him. And the sound of Stiles' arms, brushing against his sides, through the fabric, and how he snapped his fingers, when they almost touched against Derek's, made everything else seem like white noise, background sounds to Stiles' mere existence.

" Does it still feel the same for you? Like, did it get easier?" Derek didn't know why he asked that, didn’t know why his voice cracked, or why Stiles didn't call him out for it.

" I don't know if that's ever the case. I mean, sure, I don't feel like I'm drowning every single minute of my life, but it feels like that, more times than not. But, I'm always going to be without a mother, Derek. That loss, that emptiness, it will always be there, it won't go away, won't feel like anything other than what it is, you know. And I don't know, if it's supposed to be easy to live with. I think, it's not even supposed to feel like living at all. Or at least, it feels like that to me."

" Why, why are you doing this? Why are you telling me this?"

" You asked, Derek."

" Yeah, because you've always been so straightforward and generous with your answers."

" Are you sure you want to go there? **_Really_**?" Stiles' features were humorous and light, like his eyes weren't matted by the resurfaced grief. Derek smiled, something easing in his chest, when he felt Stiles' shoulder, bumping into his, before pulling away.

" No, but really. Why bother? This can't be what you want to do with your time."

" It is. I want to spend my time, being there for you, because I care about you, and I know how this feels, and thinking of you, having to go through it, all alone, and just, broken apart by those amplified memories of yours, kind of makes me wish I could go back and kill Kate myself. Every single time your eyes start doing that thing they do, like they're trying to hide something." Derek stared at him, his feet digging into the ground, like they were planting seeds of love and care and safety, and he was watching them branch out into everything that Stiles was. But Stiles was still walking, like it was all so simple for him, so clear, and not at all mind-boggling. Derek wished he could drill into his chest, and show him what his heart was doing in his ribcage, what his blood was now pulsing with.

" Stiles, I," Derek started running, pushing against whatever was tugging at him, pulling Stiles away from him. But Stiles stopped, looked back, waited, although, he knew that Derek would find nothing within himself to say, to feel, with everything else storming inside him, trying to put out the everlasting fire, that had been set to his soul.

" So, remember those ghost riders you came back to?" Stiles didn't wait for Derek's response, as he started walking again, kept on talking, " When I saw mum in that hallway, when I heard her voice, and felt how cold her hands were, how rough her skin was. I thought of my dad then. Of him having to lose her all over again. And I wanted to beg for them to take me back, take me away. I never would have tried to come back again. I never would have tried to escape the wild hunt, because he had **_her_**. He finally had her. And I was the one who was there to see what losing her did to him, to his heart, and I didn't want that for him again. To be honest, I didn't think he'd make it through it, a second time. But then he came, and he shot and killed her, for **_me_**. He carried that on his conscious, let that, be the final picture he'd have of her, how he'd always remember her, just because he wanted me back. And I'm still having trouble forgiving myself for ever telling Lydia to remember me, for giving in to that tug, that brought me back to Beacon Hills. Because even though he'd hugged me so hard, for so long, I could feel him shaking against me. And I heard him, every night, he woke up crying from a nightmare, after going years, with barely any of that. And. I never wanted that for him. He deserves better. He always has."

Salt tangled into all Derek could smell. Something was falling against Stiles' skin, hanging onto his long eyelashes, glistening with the saddest kind of light Derek had ever seen. And he wanted to take it all back, wanted to push Stiles away, far enough to not be touched by this, by the sadness and doom and misery. By the wrongness and unfairness that Derek felt like he deserved. But not Stiles. Never Stiles.

" Stop, Stiles. You don't have to say anything. You- you don't have to talk about this. About any of it. Why are you putting yourself there? Digging all this shit up?" Derek had his hands on Stiles' shoulders, as Stiles' hand came up, wiping against his skin, reddening the areas around his eyes, almost making them look like Derek's when shifted.

" Because it's the only way you're ever going to let anything out. Let me in. Because you care so much, that you'll feel guilty for handling things differently. For not sharing as much as I have. And then you'll talk, and it'll hurt, but it's a kind of pain you can't outrun, Derek. And you said it yourself; you haven't been dealing with any of it. And you have to, if you ever want to move on, to get better."

" Me not dealing is my own problem. Not yours. My lack of- of sharing, of letting things out, doesn't mean you have to over-pour, Stiles. Or drain yourself, dry."

" It's going to happen anyway. It's going to come out. So, if it helps, with anything that's happening to you, then let it." Stiles put his own hands over Derek's, easing their trembling, that Derek had barely seen at all. He looked between Stiles' eyes, feeling himself tearing at the seams, breaking, as the sadness in his eyes, hailed down, crashing against his composure, pushing it beyond anything Derek could bear.

" I'm not used to handling things like this, Stiles. This happens every year. Hell, it happens every day, almost. It's not just the fire, or Laura, or Peter. It's- it's everything. It's Kate and Jennifer and Erica and Boyd and- and Chris and Allison and Jackson and- you can't coax all that out of me, using your own pain, Stiles. I don't want you to. This has nothing to do with you, this-"

" Yes, it **_does_**. This has everything to do with me. How do you not know that by now? What this does to you, what, makes you feel like that, has everything to do with me. With all of us. And I'll be damned, if I don't at least try, to be there, and split the weight."

" It's not your weight to split, Stiles. It's not yours to carry. Is that why you came today? Because you thought you could- could take all of this, away from me?" Derek pulled away, frantic and trapped and suffocating with the grip of things he was unable to say, and the things he found himself yelling out, instead.

" Not away from you, I can take it **_for_** you."

" You can't!" Derek roared, claws piercing through his skin, his chest heaving with a howl awaiting its release, as his eyes turned red, like he was trying to scare Stiles away.

" This is who I am. Who I've been, for years now. You- you can't take any of it away. You can't rid me of the smell of smoke, of flush burning, and skin peeling and- and the sounds. You've been talking and talking and I can still hear it. It's all I can fucking hear. I lost my family. My **_pack_**. How- how the fuck can you change anything about that? About what it did to me? What the fuck do you **_want_** from me, Stiles? What else do you want from me?" Derek was reeling, losing grip, losing control, lashing out at everything that had ever come close, had ever tried to dig up skeletons that he'd buried deep within himself, had carried with him, and listened to their rattling, every time he'd come close to forgetting they'd ever been there.

" Derek, calm down, I-"

" Stiles," Derek whined, collapsing onto his knees, that were convulsing with the need to crawl against the ground, like they were always meant to. " Get away, Stiles, I- I can't. I can't control it. Fuck, get the fuck away from me." Derek sounded like he was crying, as he shoved at the hands trying to cling onto him. There was a pulsing in his ears, something hitting against his chest, wanting out, wanting away.

" Hey, Derek, come on, breathe. It's okay. It's going to be okay. You're not going to hurt me. You can shift back. Just breathe. You can do it." Stiles wouldn't go away, had always had little self-preservation, and there was a car nearing, and Derek couldn't, for the life of him, chain his wolf down, tame all that raging inside him, but he tried. Tried to tune it all out. Until he felt Stiles' arms enveloping him, shielding him away, when the car stopped, someone asked if they were okay, if they needed help, and Stiles said that they were fine, that he was the sheriff's son, before talking about police things with the officers in the car, that once were satisfied, reassured, drove away.

" You okay? You still with me?" Derek peeled his eyes opened, looking down upon the hands he'd buried beneath his armpits, to keep them from tearing into Stiles, and they were pathetically trembling, but there were no longer claws there, no fangs poking into his lips. He sighed, pulling out of Stiles' arms, and falling somewhere closeby, his fingers now shoved in his hair, trying to find something else to ground him, to contain him.

" I'm sorry, I shouldn't have pushed you like that, or,"

" Fuck, Stiles, stop. I- I could have hurt you. If I had shifted, if I'd lost control, I could have- I could have gotten you **_killed_**. Please, just, just let me be for the night, at least. Go home, Stiles. Let this run its course and then- I don't know."

" I don't want to leave you."

" Stiles," There was a plea in Derek's voice, despite the clear irritation.

" You didn't shift. Nothing happened. You pulled back. You didn't hurt me. Now, stop acting like you did, and let me hug you, before I give myself a panic attack." Derek's breath reformed into a cry, that fell against Stiles' shoulder, as his arms circled around Derek, moving up and down, pouring some comfort on all the tensed muscles it hit against, all the pieces of him, that were slowly gluing together. Derek's arms slowly unfolded, falling around Stiles, and just staying there, staying near. And it was quiet, but almost, reassuringly so. Derek didn't know if he could ever find comfort in a quiet that wasn't surrounded by Stiles.

The sun was bright and welcoming, when Derek managed to find a steadiness away from Stiles' embrace. He breathed once, inhaling more of Stiles' scent, before standing up, taking off his leather jacket, and laying it on Stiles' shoulders silently, noticing the slight shiver, running across what he saw of his skin. Then they started walking, a distance between them, that wasn't threatening, was simply, there. Until Derek started talking, of his mother's smile, and the pride he saw in her eyes, the first time he shifted. Stiles talked about the first time his father took him to the station, after being elected as sheriff, and the time he forgot his badge in the laundry, and found it rusty, and barely held together. They were laughing, one of them needing to stop, like they were taking turns, shifting somewhere between pure joy and heartbreak.

When they got back to the loft, Derek went into the shower, and let Stiles roam around the loft, leaving traces of himself in all its corners, brushing his scent everywhere, like he was trying to keep it there, for later, when Derek needed him, and he was no longer around. Stiles made breakfast, and called Cora, putting her on speaker, until Derek came tumbling down the stairs, wet and panicked and covered only in some shorts, that didn't look like his, because when had Derek ever worn shorts?

Cora sounded weary at first, like she didn't really have it in her to talk. But Stiles being Stiles, managed to make her laugh, until she heard her brother's voice, and started crying. And so did he. He told her he missed her, that he wanted her back, needed her with him. She promised to finish the semester, then transfer back, because she missed him too, and had been waiting for him to tell her to come back, give her a reason to. And he did.

" So, you and Cora, huh? When did that happen?" Derek questioned, putting another fork of eggs in his mouth, drinking more of Stiles' juice now, after growing almost nauseous with the green stuff.

" Oh, you know, we bonded, with the near-death experience, and all. Real friendship material, that kiss of life thing." Derek raised an eyebrow then, that fell away almost immediately as soon as Stiles started laughing. Derek huffed out a laugh of his own.

" I- uh, thank you, Stiles. You did something for me, that just- I never would have gotten the courage to do, so, thank you. For Cora. And just. Everything." Stiles smiled, willing it to turn into a smirk, rather than, a silent cry.

" The day still isn't over. You're not trying to get rid of me, are you, Derek?" Stiles was kidding. Derek knew he was. He just didn't really want to belittle this.

" Never. Never trying that again." Derek promised. And Stiles nodded. And that was that.

They moved back onto the couch, then the floor, when Derek got too restless, and felt the itch to move again. So Stiles helped him exercise, without pushing it too far, until Derek crashed, Stiles falling to the ground, cross-legged, with his elbows against his knees, and his face rested somewhere between them. He started talking again, until Derek did too. He talked till his voice sounded raw, overused, and his eyes drooped, around the images of his brother, breaking his first bone, and no one knowing what to do with a human, with a broken leg. And when he came to, Stiles was on his stomach, asleep, with his elbow, poking Derek's shoulder, reassuring him of his presence.

Stiles started waking up, almost half an hour later. His eyes opened, and he stared at Derek, who was looking at him, like he was some type of wonder, like he'd never seen anything like him before. Derek knew he hadn't, and probably, never would again. But then, there was a ringing of a phone, by the kitchen table, and Stiles smiled, inching close, laying a hand on Derek's chest, and tracing the falter in his heartbeat.

" It's past 12 now. The day is over. You made it. And you officially no longer have to deal with me. I'll be out of your way now." Stiles sat up, rubbing his eyes, and cracking the tired bones of his back. He almost got up, when he felt a hand on his arm, a desperate tug, that brought him crashing back onto Derek.

" What if I don't want you to be?" Derek asked, breathless and scared and so intense, in all his feelings.

" Well then, I don't have to be. I told you, this is your call." Stiles blinked, his long lashes, tickling the skin of Derek's cheeks, before he leaned up, trying to get close, to plant a kiss somewhere, but Stiles' teeth hit against his forehead, and they were both groaning, scurrying away from each other, before Stiles laughed, loud and free, and Derek did too. He thought it'd never be too quiet, with something like the sound of Stiles' laugh, out there in the world.  


End file.
